


Spun Gold

by Dreamicide



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19371781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamicide/pseuds/Dreamicide
Summary: How Sir Olberic and Sir Erhardt officially meet: through a mistake and a lie.





	Spun Gold

It was Olberic’s first battle as a newly appointed knight of Hornburg. 

 

The king sent them on a campaign in the mountains, retaking territory from small bandit-led skirmishes. Olberic relayed orders to the foot soldiers and archers around him, sitting tall on his warhorse, sword in hand. When the bandits came, he joined the fray, striking down with nary a second thought. 

 

Across the battlefield, he saw a whip of golden hair.

 

At first, he thought it was a woman. Female knights are not so rare in Hornburg. But on a second glance, Olberic corrected himself; it was Erhardt, a fellow freshly green knight. His skill with the sword was terrifying, spilling blood in wide arcs in the air and getting not a single drop in his bright gold hair. 

 

Olberic tore his eyes away from the sight to focus on himself. Another bandit rushed forward, and Olberic ran him down. He wasn't given any time to wipe the blood off his sword before another came. But such is war. 

 

*

 

It felt like days before the battle was finally won. Bodies lay all around, waiting for clerics to arrive for cleanup or looters to come search their pockets. Olberic and the other knights retreated to a small mountain town, licking their wounds and erasing the images of battle with tankards of ale. 

 

Olberic sat alone at the tavern, nursing a mug. Fourth or fifth, he wasn't sure. Many knights had told him the first battle was the hardest, but still he felt underprepared for the sights laid upon his eyes. Men, still gasping for breath with a sword pommel jutting out of their chest. Eyes wide just as an arrow struck. Disembodied limbs scattered about the blood-soaked dirt. 

 

He downed the rest of his ale.

 

From across the tavern, another knight entered. Olberic immediately recognized the flash of long flaxen hair, still unstained by battle. Erhardt looked at no one as he sauntered inside and found his place at an empty table, ordering for whatever was strongest. Olberic overheard his voice, deep with the slight accent of a small border town. There was something untouchable about Erhardt. None of the other knights or soldiers in the tavern moved to join him, and Olberic can hardly remember a time he ever spotted Erhardt conversing with anyone other than their commanding officer. He was a lone wolf, in every sense of the word. 

 

But Olberic felt a strange pull to the fellow knight. A kinship, perhaps, as newly appointed knights of Hornburg on their first campaign. 

 

He moved to get up, but then found someone else was already making a move.

 

A foot soldier approached Erhardt from the side with an exaggerated swagger. He was lithe, unkempt, and very very drunk. 

 

“Gods, you really do look like a woman,” the man slurred, leaning against the table as he looked Erhardt up and down. “You fuck like one, too?” 

 

Erhardt lifted the tankard to his lips, and said nothing. 

 

“Hey. I’m talkin’ to you.” The man leered over Erhardt. Olberic could practically smell his rank breath from across the room. “C’mon, pretty lady. Won't you serve me like a tavern wench?”

 

Erhardt closed his eyes, but Olberic could see a twitch beneath his strong jaw. Far too calmly and politely for the drunkard, he said, “I've no interest in talking to you. You should leave.”

 

The man just laughed. “He speaks!” He downed his ale in one go, losing much of his drink down the sides of his face. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and belched. “Look, all I'm tellin’ you is that everyone says you look like a bitch and I wanna see if you take it like one too. Always actin’ like you're high and mighty, I could fuck the haughtiness right outta ya. C’mon,” the man said, and skated a hand through Erhardt’s golden hair, before clutching it hard. “I'll be gentle.”

 

Olberic finally got up to intervene, but the poor sod couldn't escape what happened next. 

 

All Olberic saw was a flick of the wrist, and then blood spewed forth. The man’s throat gaped open and he gurgled, clutching at his neck, and fell to the ground. Erhardt stood above him, already wiping the blood off his blade with nary an emotion on his face. 

 

The tavern was immediately thrown into chaos. Chairs clattered to the ground from the force which soldiers stood up, and fellow knights surrounded Erhardt with their swords drawn. “Green blade!” one shouted. “What is the meaning of this?!”

 

Grimacing, Erhardt sheathed his sword. He said nothing. 

 

None of the other soldiers could have heard what happened before Erhardt killed the man. The uncouth words, the harassment. The unforgiving grip of his hair. Surely, he would have been admonished for his drunken behavior, had anyone borne witness. Such actions brought dishonor to the kingdom. 

 

Yet all these men saw was a knight slaying his fellow soldier. An act considered treasonous. 

 

In that moment their commanding officer entered the tavern, brought in by other foot soldiers. He was a great bear of a man, a scar slashed over one eye and a thick beard forked into twin braids. “What the bloody hell is going on here?” he roared. The tavern fell silent at his words. “Well?” he boomed. “What's this I hear about treachery?”

 

One of the soldiers shoved Erhardt forward. “This man killed a fellow foot soldier, sir,” he said. “Someone on  _ our _ side!”

 

The commanding officer loomed over Erhardt, single eye glaring forth. “The man speaks of treason,” he said. “An act punished by execution. Do you deny it?”

 

Erhardt closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he looked up. “I do not.”

 

No. No. This was all wrong. Erhardt should be explaining what happened, if he wished to live. It didn't make sense. 

 

Of course, Olberic realized, even if they knew of the drunkard’s actions, it still wouldn't have given Erhardt reason to strike him down. Perhaps Erhardt already knew that. 

 

Olberic clenched his fist. Before he could think further, he stood. 

 

“I bear witness to the scene,” he announced. 

 

All at once, the other patrons of the tavern turned to look at him. Olberic spotted Erhardt’s furrowed brow. 

 

“The man challenged Sir Erhardt to a duel,” Olberic said, the words stunning him even as he spoke them. “He drew his sword first.”

 

Everyone began to murmur amongst themselves. No one could corroborate, but no one could admit to being witness at all, either. Only Olberic watched the scene unfold.

 

The commanding officer stared hard into Olberic’s eyes. “You swear on your life, your honor, that this is what happened?”

 

“I swear it,” said Olberic. 

 

“I see.” The commanding officer turned back to the soldiers. “Release him, then. And know that from now on,  _ none _ of you idiots are to duel. We’re in a  _ war,  _ godsdamnit! Concentrate on killing the sods on the other side!” 

 

The soldiers let Erhardt go. He stared at Olberic, piercing eyes questioning. 

 

Olberic turned around and left the tavern.

 

*

 

He returned to camp, on the outskirts of town. As a knight, he was afforded his own tent, with his house crest displayed at the front. Olberic sat near the fire, sliding a whetstone over the edge of his blade, lost in thought. 

 

The flap of his tent opened, and someone entered without announcement. 

 

“I made a mistake tonight,” the familiar voice began without preamble, “one that should have cost me my life and everything I worked for to get where I am.”

 

He paused, then, and Olberic turned to see Erhardt standing at the entrance, arms crossed in a guarded gesture. 

 

“Yet you vouched for me,” he continued. “Vouched for me on a lie, a grave sin to the honor of knighthood.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

 

Why? Olberic had been asking himself that question ever since the words left his lips.  But the only explanation he could possibly come up with was… 

 

“We already lost one of our numbers tonight, outside of battle,” Olberic said. He leaned back in his chair, fingers idly tracing the edge of his blade. “I have watched you fight. To lose you as well would only put us at a greater disadvantage in the battles to come.”

 

“Ah,” said Erhardt, “so it was a lie of strategy.”

 

Silence fell over the two knights. Olberic had explained himself; he knew not what else to say. 

 

“Sir Erhardt,” introduced Erhardt.

 

“I know,” said Olberic stupidly. He winced at himself. “Sir Olberic,” he said in turn. “Olberic Eisenberg.”

 

“I know,” said Erhardt cryptically. He drew closer to Olberic, the corner of his mouth upturned. “I do not like to be left indebted to people,” he announced. “And so I will give you what I would not give that man.” He placed a hand on Olberic’s chest, leaning close. His hair draped over his shoulder, like spun gold. “But just so you know,” he added, “I do not lie down and take. I  _ give.” _

 

Olberic sat ramrod straight, blinking several times in succession. “You do not have t—,”

 

Erhardt pressed his mouth to Olberic’s. Eyes widening, Olberic felt frozen in place, letting the man kiss him as he pleased. His heart thumped in his chest, and when Erhardt’s tongue brushed against his bottom lip, Olberic felt a heat settle deep in his gut. He finally began to accept it, eyes falling closed and leaning into Erhardt’s warmth. 

 

Then Erhardt pulled away, mouth twisting in a smile. His hand rubbed absently over Olberic’s chest.

 

“I think you and I are going to become very close comrades,” he said, voice deep. 

 

Olberic couldn't agree more. 


End file.
